


a scratchy kiss

by braithwaites



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, John Marston isn't good at much but he's good at oral, No Spoilers, Oral Sex, Prompt Fic, Reader-Insert, Romance, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 23:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17089709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braithwaites/pseuds/braithwaites
Summary: “Now's not the time for that,” John whispered, his voice slow as cold maple syrup against your skin. “If you keep lecturing me, Charles'll be here before we know it.”“The end times'll come 'fore I'm done listing all the good things about you, John Marston.”





	a scratchy kiss

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing Reader smut. Please be kind to me.

 

The hotel in Strawberry felt like a closet.

Not that the room wasn't nice. You hadn't slept anywhere half as fancy in what felt like years, but might have only been months. Still, there was only one room, and that room wasn't big so much as it was comfortable, with a bed big enough for three folks if they slept on their sides.

John Marston didn't sleep on his side, though. He slept sprawled out, one leg hitched up and his arms above his head. So, you and Charles agreed that he would be cozy enough on the wooden floor with a blanket and a cushion or two from the seat near the window.

There wasn't much of a fight. John's shoulders sagged, and he threw his hands up only once before muttering a low, “Fine.”

Once sleeping arrangements were decided, Charles branched off from the hotel to check out the sheriff's office. Seeing as Arthur had been through a week or two before, bounties weren't guaranteed, but there was no harm in looking. The saloon often had notices for work pinned up outside, too, scrawled on slips of paper faded from the sun and curling at the ends from the near-constant mist that blanketed the area in early summertime.

John decided to fork over the twenty-five cents for a bath, like you had not five minutes after arriving at the hotel. He left you with nothing more than a smoky look and a squeeze on your hip that didn't quite linger.

After traveling alone together for a while, the addition of another person from the gang had proved... interesting.

Charles was a good guy, but he was quieter than you'd expect from someone of his size. Not a snapped twig or a disturbed bird or anything had alerted you two the last time walked in on you two fooling around.

Now, there was a bed – and a comfortable bed, by the looks of it – and you were sharing it with Charles rather than John. Just seemed like bad luck.

Rubbing a hand beneath your damp hair, you look around the hotel room, unsure of what you should _do_ to pass the time. There was no use in pulling out a deck of cards. Drinking alone wasn't exactly fun, either, not when John was down the hall. You could clean up one or both of your guns, or you could hurry downstairs and find Charles and get yourself muddy after your nice bath. None of your options felt right.

The fire burning on the other side of the room was stifling, making your skin feel even stickier. An urge nestled high in your stomach, one that told you to get changed. Comfortable. You had rations in your pack. Going down to the saloon didn't have to be in the cards.

Shrugging off your coat, you tossed the rough, blue-gray bundle across the foot of the bed and settled down onto the edge of the mattress.

It was softer than your bedroll, for damn sure. Easy to sit on. Probably a thousand times easier to sleep in.

Rather than laying back, you leaned farther over and began tugging at the laces of your boots. The leather squeaked as you pulled your feet out of them and let them topple over without your legs for support. Socks followed, baring your toes to the oppressive heat of the room. You curled them before relaxing with a sigh.

You began idly thumbing at the few buttons that sat at the top of your blouse from the high neck down over your chest, attention focused solely on the painting that stood above the fireplace itself.

Every breath smelled of the fire rather than the soap on your skin. It wasn't any better than clinging to a campfire for hours. You trailed that scent around for the better part of the next day, like you were primed and ready to catch fire yourself.

Tugging your blouse out of your trousers, you tossed that aside, too, baring every inch of your skin from the top of your forehead to just above your navel. You _longed_ for a chill, for anything to break up the heat and the smell of firewood turning to ash.

You longed for more than that, but John would be hot as an orange coal out of the bath. The thought of him pressing up against you, skin-to-skin, right after being submerged in water that hot made you squirm and screw up your face in a frown. Not that the picture wasn't pleasant. There wasn't nothing not nice about him stripped down to the suit God gave him.

Pushing up onto your feet, you moved around the foot of the bed and eased open one of the windows, not caring one lick if anyone on the street got an eyeful.

Except...

Maybe it wouldn't be great for Charles to get yet another look at your breasts. He'd seen enough, you wagered.

You pulled away from the window just far enough to duck behind the windowsill, arms folded against the painted wood as you tipped your head forward to suck in a breath of air so sharp and so cool that it tingled your nose.

Content with a crack in the window, you diverted your attention to one of the bags at the foot of the bed. There, you kept another change of clothes – something looser, something cooler than the thick layers you were forced into when you rode in West Elizabeth. You pulled each piece of clothing out and set it over the coat you slung over the end of the bed, hesitating over the band of red fabric John bought for you in Valentine to wear around your throat.

_Maybe later_ , you decided. _If he doesn't put up too much of a fuss about sleeping on the floor_.

Once your change of clothes was readily available, you unbuttoned and tugged at your trousers until they sank around your feet. Next went your drawers. They folded up easily enough, making for quick storage in your traveling sack.

But as you crouched there, shoving everything back into your back, the doorknob turned. Somehow, you heard it over the sound of the crackling fire and creaking of carriages on the roads outside. The grind of metal against wood and mechanisms put a band of steel in your spine. You stiffened and went still for all of a moment before you snatched your coat up off of the bed.

In the flurry of movement, your change of clothes fell in a rumpled mess on the side of the bed. Not that it mattered; you weren't even fully concealed by the coat when you turned around and saw John Marston standing there, not _quite_ filling up the doorway, his skin blotchy and red in places and hair sticking to his cheeks and neck and whatever else it touched.

The look on his face wasn't the same one he gave you before leaving. A promise of what was going to happen while Charles was away had been replaced by an impressed sort of shocked that layered another shade of pink over the flush that was already there on account of the heat.

And he just stayed there, staring, for much longer than anyone should have.

You couldn't keep quiet for very long, not even once you pulled the rough fabric around you tight enough to pinch in places.

“Close the damn door!”

John took a single, uneven stride forward and did just that, slamming the door shut with enough power to make the paintings shiver on the walls. He hesitated for a moment before reaching for the key that sat on the dresser beside the door and turned it in the lock with a _click_ that didn't time right with your heart's racing.

“Should've locked it” he murmured as he turned back around, regarding you with a watered down version of the last look he'd given you. “I coulda been anybody.”

You worried over your bottom lip before shaking your head with a laugh that bordered upon the overwhelmed. “You're something else,” you told him. There was no changing into something more comfortable with him there. The feeling in the room had shifted pretty drastically. You couldn't do anything to forget the way he'd touched you before leaving the room. There had been a promise there, too. “How many times have you seen me naked? And you still act like it's the first time?”

John rubbed over the back of his neck. Conflict riddled his expression before something else entirely took hold. When his eyes moved back to yours, they were strangely resolute.

He took a step forward. You had no reason to take a step back.

“If I _ever_ stop looking at you like that,” John said slowly, like he was still picking over his words even when he looked so sure of them, “get rid of me.” He flashed you a smile, higher on one side than the other. “I'm not worth it.”

Your eyes widened a hair, caught between something shocked and something charmed.

“Damn.” John took another step forward. His bare feet were soundless on the floorboards. “Is that what I looked like?”

You reached out to give him a light shove only to find his fingers laced through yours, callused palms pressed to callused palms. There wasn't much of a chance for that kind of intimacy out in the wilderness. Romance was quick and breathy and exhausting, more in what you did for a person rather than to them. But there, at the hotel in Strawberry, with its thick walls and big, soft bed, you could have something else with him.

“That, but more handsome,” you teased, though the heat in your voice was gone. It left you sounding almost like a gasp, which was ridiculous but felt less so when you saw John's expression soften as he looked at you. “Come on... I had to.”

John leaned down and kissed you without seeking out your hair or your cheeks or the curve of your neck with his hands. They still held onto you, even as his mouth moved slowly over yours.

There was no need to hurry. You felt that down to your bones, along with the anticipation that followed that realization.

“Charles won't be back for a while yet,” you said, fingers curling around John's. He had big hands – long and skinny, with tapered, strong fingers. They were better than your own at getting you off, and feeling them hold onto yours like that brought a dozen of those memories right to the forefront of your mind. “We could be quick.”

John's laugh was quiet and self-deprecating. “You know that's all I can do. You don't gotta worry about him catching us again.”

“What I know is that that ain't true.” You leaned back far enough to look up at him, your forehead wrinkling as your brows rose. There wasn't a more serious face to put on. He already looked a little chided, even before you said anything. “You can last longer than any of the men I've been with. Just 'cause it's in different ways, doesn't mean it isn't good.”

This time, when John ducked his head, he tucked it into the crook of your neck. His lips were warm. Like you expected, _everything_ was warm.

“Now's not the time for that,” he whispered, his voice slow as cold maple syrup against your skin. “If you keep lecturing me, Charles'll be here before we know it.”

“The end times'll come 'fore I'm done listing all the good things about you, John Marston.”

John let go of a hoarse whine that almost sounded like a hungry dog before you felt yourself suddenly lifted off of your feet. His hands bunched in the fabric of your coat, held firm behind your thighs as he brought you up against him before climbing up onto the hotel's big bed and letting you fall down against the stack of soft pillows with a _whump_ and a squeak.  
  
Your coat fell partly open, but John was quick to help it the rest of the way, leaving only your arms and shoulders covered by the thick fabric. Everything else was there for him to see – your breasts, falling slightly to either side, your stomach rising and falling with every breath, your thighs parted to accommodate his knees, and the hair between your legs slick from your earlier anticipation.

“Less talkin',” John said. Droplets of water still clinging to his hair dropped over your skin as he stretched out above you. His mouth found those drops of water on your collarbone, on the underside of a breast, on your right rib. Every time he found one, he licked the water from your skin, his thin-lipped mouth curling into an almost smug smile as you squirmed under him. “I'm alright with more of this, though.”

You liked different things in bed. You enjoyed being in control; you loved being toyed with and taken care of. Being grabbed didn't get you off any harder than being held. In fact, the effect was almost exactly the same.

Still, you had your pride, and simply laying there while he laid into you didn't appeal just then.

Spreading your legs a little wider, you dug your heel into the mattress and hitched yourself up higher on the mattress, giving John the opportunity for an excellent show if he decided to nibble on the bait.

“I've got something else for you if you're so thirsty.”

Sometimes, you said things that just drove John into utter, rapt silence. There was power in that. There was no denying the rush it gave you, watching his pupils blow out and his lips part and his breath come in a little faster.

You stared up at him, fingertips trailing over the triangle of bath-warm chest he hadn't bothered to hide under his buttons.

“Unless you're not interested,” you murmured with a hint of a smile that echoed the one John had been wearing earlier. You could give as good as you got. He'd do well to remember that going forward. “I could just put my drawers back on...”

With his knee, John nudged your legs farther apart. He left a scratchy kiss in the very center of your chest before moving swiftly downward without a word, marking you as the sure victor.

Though, by the time Charles got there, you were sure that you'd both count yourselves as a winner.

The moment his mouth pressed between your thighs, you felt every muscle flicker with tension before releasing in a sigh, toes curling, fingers gripping tight into the bedding that lay beneath your hands. The slick warmth of his tongue pressed inward between your lips, guiding them apart as much with that as his fingertips.

This wasn't the first time he'd ever done this to you. No, John was more confident in those skills than with his cock, not that he'd ever admit to such a thing.

He buried his face forward, and even though his face was mostly hidden away, you could see from the rise of his shoulders that he took a deep breath of you. Just after, he released a sigh not unlike the one you'd given him mere moments before, licking his lips. You felt _that_ more than heard or saw it.

“You taste good,” John murmured, his eyes shut beneath the dark hair that fell over his brow. “I'm glad I locked the door.”

Your voice felt threadbare on your tongue when you replied. “Afraid he'll interrupt us?”

John chuckled. The sound vibrated up from your cunt, warming your stomach like a shot of whiskey.

“If he wants in this room before I'm done, he'll be climbing through that fucking window.” John jabbed a forefinger towards the open window without pulling away. And then, more quietly, he said: “What kinda hotel only has one room, anyway?”

“Fancy one,” you said, tipping your head back and shifting around to find the perfect place to settle. After months of fucking on an only mostly steady cot, having him on the bed felt a little strange, like you were being swallowed up by the mattress rather than hugged by it. Your brows pinched. “I thought you said 'less talking.'”

John gave a bark of laughter rather than a chuckle. You liked that laugh better, though the first one was a quick way to put you in that exact position – mostly naked and on your back.

“Yeah,” he told you, meeting your eyes. You felt his mouth stretch into a smile against your skin when you glanced away. “'Less talking,' not 'no talking.'”

You could have pinched him, but you didn't. Instead, you made a show of settling back, of easing your thighs farther apart to accommodate more of his body. He wasn't a broad man, but you wanted to give him enough room to move around.

He didn't say anything else.

Instead, he lowered his head and dragged his tongue between your lips, his fingers coaxing you to spread as he neared the very top. The pointed tip of his tongue rolled around your clit before lapping at it as eagerly as you expected from him.

Pleasure skittered up your spine, bowing it for a moment before you relaxed again with a throaty moan.

And John?

John simply kept going. He didn't stop to tell you how you smelled or tasted. He didn't stop to meet your eyes or hold your hand. Once he got started, he kept going, determined to bring you off as quickly and intensely as possible.

There was no stopping until you were sopping wet, and even then, sometimes he pushed past that, not leaning away until his jaw ached and you could barely breathe.

That didn't happen that night in Strawberry.

He lapped at your clit, sucked at it, moaned against it, all while easing his long, skinny fingers into you one at a time until he was sure you could take more. No matter how many times you came on his fingers, the first few pushes were always a little strange. Your hips squirmed on the bed, and he followed them without missing a beat.

You could remember the first time he brought up how wiggly you were in bed. He grinned and nipped at your shoulder and told you, “I like it.”

John never gave you a reason to stop yourself from doing anything.

“There,” you whispered. It was more of an exhalation than an actual word. A whine crept into your voice. “Right there.”

John never needed directions, either, but he took them in stride, trusting you with your body and your pleasure enough to be led in one way or another. Even if it took him off his stride, he listened. That's one thing he was really good at – not being stubborn in bed, unless he was in an awful mood already.

You told him _there_ , and that's where he focused his attention, all while curling his fingers inside of you. He rocked them as he sucked, as he rolled his tongue against your clit. Whether he could breathe or not, you never knew, not with how he mashed his nose against you.

And as he worked, you felt a tell-tale shiver of warmth snaking up from between your legs, teased by his touch and his determination. He licked and sighed and grunted, his hips rocking forward slightly with the motion of his mouth – a sight that left you damn near trembling with need. This was good; having him inside of you was just as perfect.

“John...!”

His name broke against your teeth. The gasp and moan that followed drew up a whistle from the street below, loud enough to make your already searingly hot skin flush.

That crack in the window wasn't letting enough cool air in, but it sure was letting everything out. Sweet Jesus.

The muscles in your thighs tensed as you came. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from disturbing the whole damn town with the crack in the window. That only made John work harder, riding the length of your orgasm without letting you rest for a moment. The well-trained tip of his tongue slid through the sticky mixture of spit and wetness you left behind, like he was scooping you up with a spoon.

He leaned away when you stopped your squirming. Firelight flickered off of the damp skin of his mouth, though that didn't last long. He licked up most of it and thumbed the rest into his mouth.

You sucked in a deep breath, hoping to calm down your racing heart.

As soon as you took in another, there was a knock at the door. Patient, but clearly unyielding.

You knew Charles's knock, even without having heard it before.

John looked plain stricken. His distress was so plainly evident on his face that you couldn't hold back a snicker. He responded by leaning over the bed and throwing your drawers in your face, along with every piece of clothing you'd dug out of your sack what felt like a year before.

“Get dressed,” he said, sounding _much_ grumpier than he usually did when you were able to spend some time alone.

When he stood, John took a moment to adjust himself in his trousers. He cast another dire look back in your direction. You couldn't help but be tempted to tell Charles to give you an hour. Or two.

Definitely two, from the way John kept sneaking looks over in your direction.

Charles's knuckles rapped on the door again, pulling something between a groan and a growl out of John's mouth. “Alright!” he shouted, his voice like a brush of sandpaper. “Alright. I'll unlock the door in a—”

He looked back at you, arms raised in question.

“In a minute!” you shouted back at the door, already sliding into your drawers and a fitted pair of jeans with padding along the thighs.

Standing there, somewhat dressed and mostly bedraggled, you looked over at John and caught him already staring. His eyes were dark, but you could see how soft they were, even at a distance. He watched and waited as you dressed yourself, tugging another thin shirt over your head after casting your coat aside.

Then, you reached into the back for the strip of red fabric to tie around your neck.

John adjusted himself in his trousers again and looked away, turning towards the door with all the frustration of a stiff man stolen away from a wonderful opportunity.

“You ready?” he asked without turning back around.

The room smelled of burning wood and sex with a hint of pine sneaking in beneath the open window. Clothes were strewn in every direction, if not on every surface. It could have been worse. You and John could have actually fucked and made an even worse mess of things in the process.

If Charles opened his mouth to complain, you knew that's what John would say.

“Yeah,” you said, smiling to yourself as you tucked the end of the red fabric in on itself. “You can unlock the door.”

John's shoulders sank as if he'd been waiting for you to say something else, but he didn't stop and tell you to reconsider. One day, you'd have to ask him what he'd wanted just then, but until that moment came, you'd settle with being curious.

He turned the key and set it back onto the dresser and twisted the door open.


End file.
